


Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

by Spinning_In_Infinity



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens, Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bible references, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Cunnilingus, Demon!AU, F/M, Hypnotism, Kidnapping, Kylo has dubious morals, Kylo is the devil - literally, Masquerade, Porn With Plot, Rey is resistant to Kylo's powers, Reylo - Freeform, Seduction, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, also is a bit of a stalker, devil!au, slight inspiration from Lucifer, slightly blasphemous, so much sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 16:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18319214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinning_In_Infinity/pseuds/Spinning_In_Infinity
Summary: "If centuries of living in sin and vice had taught him anything, it was that it was often far less entertaining to simply be given what he desired than to earn it, piece by piece, until every part was completely and undeniably his. Soon, so would she be."It's been five hundred years since the demon prince Kylo Ren rose to the black throne of Hell, and by now he's used to getting what he wants. That is until he meets Rey - a mortal runaway with a mysterious ability to resist his supernatural powers of seduction. There is more to this strange girl than meets the eye, and Kylo is all too curious to uncover her secret, even if that means seducing her the old-fashioned way. . .Rated 'explicit' for extremely graphic sex in later chapters.





	Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this after watching season one of Lucifer (epic show). Title taken from the song of the same name by Cage The Elephant. Each chapter title is a song I listened to a lot while writing it - check them out as they're *singing* awwwwwsoooome! The first chapter is mostly scene setting but gratuitous sex and plot will follow directly in chapter two.

_When you came in, the air went out_

_And every shadow filled up with doubt_

_I don’t know who you think you are_

_But before the night is through_

_I wanna do bad things with you_

The smoky bar was crowded when the man in the black suit entered it.

  To the casual observer, he was tall and broad-shouldered, with thick black hair that fell in loose curls around his collar. To those who spared a second glance, he had a long, aquiline nose, a generous mouth, and deep-set eyes that stared lazily around the gathered company. He was a man with the instinctive ability to blend into the background of a room, or else be the sole focus of every person in it.

  His suit was well-tailored, obviously expensive, but worn in such a way that it seemed only natural for it to be seen in such a place, as though everyone else was merely tragically underdressed. He crossed the room with long, easy strides, slid onto a leather-topped stool and tapped a finger on the sticky surface. The barman’s attention was drawn from the woman he was optimistically – read: hopelessly – flirting with, and he turned glassy eyes towards the new patron.

  “The usual, Mr. Ren?”

  It might have seemed odd that a man of such obvious wealth would have ‘a usual’ in a place such as this, but it was the only place he could be assured of anonymity. Unusual incidences tended to follow him around like smoke from a fire, but in a dive like Mos Eisley’s, it took more than that to attract attention.

  The barman – a sandy-haired reprobate named Brandon – retrieved the bottle of 1946 Macallan scotch from its usual place beneath the counter and decanted some into a glass for him. It would probably have horrified some connoisseurs to see a $40,000 bottle of select reserve being drunk from a glass faded by dishwasher salts, but Kylo cared little for such things; he would have sipped it from a red plastic party cup if it elicited an amusing reaction. As it was, there was no-one to offend save for truckers, drunks, and small selection of women with morals so loose he could practically hear them rattling between their open legs. The locals affectionately referred to the bar as “a place for a good time”; he would have applied the more accurate moniker of “a wretched hive of scum and villainy”. Which meant, of course, that he fitted in splendidly.

  He took an elegant sip of his drink and rolled his neck back to stare at the smoke-stained ceiling. It had been a trying week. Since the whole sorry debacle with the Presidential election, his workload seemed to have tripled. Hate crimes and random outbursts of violence had kept his sentries at the Gates frantic with crowd control, the traffic of souls condemned to the Seventh Circle growing so exponentially that he’d been obliged to extend the Outer Ring to include a separate lake for neo-Nazis alone. It was like these people thought his supply of boiling blood was unlimited (it was, but it was rude of them to assume). He thought this kind of shit ended with the Second World War, but it seemed this moronic race of hairless apes – the Lord’s beloved creations, prized above all in His collection – truly were Hell-bent on tarnishing their souls like salvation was promised. Poor, deluded fools; he would almost pity them were they not so repulsive. He’d walked among them many times, heard them spewing Evangelical nonsense on the golden streets of L.A., picketing outside family planning clinics, putting bullets in the brain of anyone who dared to believe in their own invisible Man in the Sky. All in His name; as if their belief gave them the right to take another human’s life. It had become his favoured method of relieving boredom over the last decade; waiting just inside the Gates to see the expressions on the faces of those self-righteous pricks. To see the last whisper of hope fade into the void.

  It had been almost five hundred years since he had risen to the throne, hand-picked by the Dark One himself. Since God had imprisoned his fallen son in the Ninth Circle, it had been necessary for Lucifer to appoint a figurehead to lead his armies of demons in their underworldly duties while he suffered through his eternal torment. It was Kylo’s task to carry out his wishes. He bore the title of “Devil” and “Satan” on his shoulders, blamed for all the evils of the world, with ne’er a word of thanks for the retribution he wreaked upon those whose name others cursed. Murderers, thieves, rapists, paedophiles, lawyers – all felt the wretched sting of his wrath at the hands of the demons he commanded. Evil trembled before his gaze, his voice like thunder rolling through the valleys of the damned.        

  A brief gust of wind through the door announced a new arrival at the bar. He glanced at the slim young woman who approached, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and asked Brandon for a tap water. He poured her a glass with the disgruntled air of any merchant obliged to give up something for free. She took a sip and pulled her hood down, revealing dark brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Kylo could taste the acrid tang of her aura around the liquor in his mouth, overlaying, but not quite overpowering, a scent so sweet it was as though honey were being dripped onto his tongue. This combination intrigued him, and he sent out a silent command for her attention. As though she’d heard someone calling her name from across the room, she sat up straighter and glanced in his direction. She had pretty, elfin features – sharp eyes; dark, angular brows, and neat, pearly-pink lips pursed in curiosity. Nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing he hadn’t seen a thousand times before, but it had been a slow decade and he was in an inquisitive mood. Catching her line of sight, he extended an invisible tendril of charm to stroke her psyche, to draw her attention closer. Her gaze caught his for a moment and it seemed she might be caught, but then the thread snapped and she dropped her eyes back to the counter-top.

  That was interesting.

  He frowned and tried again, stronger this time; the thread thickening into a vine and curling up the flesh of her arm, willing her to see him – to want him. She gave the kind of shiver that mortals usually followed by the preposterous claim that somebody was “walking on their grave”, and his hold broke once more. Puzzled, he stared into the complexity of her aura more closely – yes, there was the suffering, pain and shame, masking a feeble mist of hopefulness (huh, _hope_ – the Almighty Father’s last great lie), but— what was that? Something flitted across his senses like a stalked deer breaking cover, only to disappear into the safety of her mind. It was light, shining, almost . . . But no, there was no way that it could be . . .

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He’d been so focused on pinning down that spark that he hadn’t realised he was still staring at her. Her eyes were fierce, wary, and he could hear her mind planning an escape route. This was a mortal who’d learned how to run from danger, from the fear of a stronger hand. Her voice was sharp as her gaze, her accent clipped and polished. Certainly not a native to the area. A wall of suspicion had risen around her like a fortress, masking any sign of that fleeting brightness even from his trained eye. He could not remember another mortal with the ability to shield themselves against him like this, and yet here was this seemingly unremarkable young woman, resisting him. He had to investigate.

  “Forgive me,” he poured a little influence into his tone, noticing the tension in her shoulders drop just a fraction. So, she was not totally immune to his powers, or was it simply the timbre of his human voice pleasing her ears? “You seem troubled.”

  She gave a distinctly unladylike snort but didn’t respond.

  “Can I buy you a drink? A proper one, that is.”

  “No,” then, as if remembering some semblance of manners, “thank you.”

  “Please,” he added another measure of persuasion to his voice. “I insist.”

  “I said no thanks.”

  This was simultaneously the most fascinating and frustrating first acquaintance he’d experienced in a long time. She was no longer even looking at him, and he could tell she was one push away from leaving altogether, but there was no chance he could allow that to happen.

  “ ** _Sit with me_** _._ ” He usually abstained from using a command so early in a conversation, but this was clearly the time for an exception.

  She looked for a moment as though she wanted to refuse a third time, but after a beat decided to accept his offer, moving herself and her water down the bar to the stool beside his. Once her pert little backside was parked, she blinked, as though unsure of how she got there, but didn’t move away. So, she wasn’t immune to instruction, simply charm. He could work with that. It would be poor sport to simply tell her to leave with him, but it at least opened the door to further interaction. If centuries of living in sin and vice had taught him anything, it was that it was often far less entertaining to simply be given what he desired than to earn it, piece by piece, until every part was completely and undeniably his. Soon, so would she be.

  He pushed his scotch towards her with the tip of his finger, the tawny liquid swilling in the bottom of the glass. He could tell she wanted it – for him, a person’s desires were as easy to read as the colour of their eyes – but saw accepting his offering as a debt he would expect repaid. Smart girl.

  “You look like you could do with a pick-me-up,” he said. “No ulterior motive, I promise you.”

  She huffed through her nose. “And what is that worth, the promise of a man?”

  His eyebrows rose, both at the response, and the film quote reference. This girl was interesting. He shrugged, picked up the glass and took a sip. “As you wish.”

  The corner of her mouth quirked in what could have been the beginnings of a smile, but she caught it before it had the chance to bloom.

  Kylo extended the glass to her once more. “Some might argue whiskey of this quality was worth a great many promises.”

  “Some might also argue the world is flat, doesn’t mean they’re worth listening to.”

  “Is that _still_ in dispute? My word, you humans do hold onto that bone.”

  “’Humans’?” she raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “What are you, a vampire, or something?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, flashing a smile that should have had her falling to her knees with her mouth open. “Call me Vlad.”

  “Then call _me_ Van Helsing,” she said. She extended a small hand, and he took it before she had a chance to withdraw such an open invitation. The moment their fingers met, something akin to an atomic bomb erupted inside Kylo’s brain, flooding his senses with such an intense rush of pleasure he almost moaned aloud. She pulled her hand away and the feeling faded as quickly as it had come; her demeanour distinctly unruffled. She clearly hadn’t felt a thing, and yet his whole being was thrumming with the vibrancy of their connection. Who the fuck _was_ this girl?

  “You’re a lot shorter in person, Professor,” he said, managing to keep his voice calm.

  “And you’re missing a cape,” she said. “Or is that only for the publicity stunts?”

  “Part of the image,” he said. He proffered his hand again, willing her to accept it so he could feel that divine spark again. “Kylo Ren. Real name.”

  She ignored his expectant fingers and simply gave a small nod. “Pleasure.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re wearing a thousand-dollar suit in a dump like this. Obviously I can’t trust you.”

  The suit had actually been three-thousand dollars, but Kylo decided not to disclose this fact.

  “What if I offered to take you somewhere a little more upmarket?”

  “Well, I’d be a fool to accept.”

  “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

  “I’m not exactly an angel either.”

  “We have that in common,” he said. “Why walk in God’s shadow when the Devil offers a well-lit path?”

  “You say a lot of fancy things.”

  “People generally like the sound of my voice.”

  “People like the sound of Donald Trump,” she shrugged. “No accounting for taste, I guess.”

  Kylo felt a muscle twitch below his left eye. “You seriously did not just compare me to Trump.”

  Her stoic expression faltered and she chuckled. “You could not look more insulted if I compared you to a sack of shit on fire.”

  “At least I’d be better-looking.”

  She smirked and ran a hand over her face. He could sense her barriers were slowly beginning to unfurl, like a flower exposed to sunlight.

  “Does it say something about me that insulting a random stranger in a seedy bar is the most enjoyable thing that’s happened to me this week?”

  “No more than it says about me how much I’m enjoying it,” Kylo said. “If you want to vent, I’m good at sympathy. Confessions, too.”

  “Nothing to confess,” she said. “Just that I’d happily watch my boyfriend – _ex_ -boyfriend – get hit by a bus right now.”

  “Single or double-decked?”

  “Both. Two directions – squish.” She balled her fists and thumped her knuckles together.

  “Let me guess – he was cheating on you?”

  “Correct! Congratulations,” she said, waving an arm at the rows of bottles behind the bar, “you get to choose from our prize wheel!”

  “He was clearly a fucking idiot.”

  “Yep,” she took a large swig of water with an expression that clearly stated she wished it was alcoholic. “But d’you want to know the worst part?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I _knew_ he was a fucking idiot. I’ve known it for months. Hell, I _told_ him enough times. And yet did I break up with him? _Nope_. Miss Bad Decisions 2019 wins the crown again!”

  “You don’t seem the type to suffer fools lightly.”

  “Usually I’m not, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go. Just finally realised I’d rather sleep in a rubbish truck than under the same roof as him.”

  “Good for you. So – big plans for your newfound freedom?”  

  “Yes. Nothing that concerns you.”

  She knew how to safeguard herself, that could never be in doubt. It was simultaneously intriguing and frustrating beyond measure. She clocked his expression and raised an eyebrow.

  “What, not used to being rejected?”

  “Not with such tenacity,” he said. “Am I really that repulsive?”

  “Nah. You’re hot, I guess,” she conceded with a shrug. “I just really can’t be bothered right now.”

  “Can’t be bothered with what?”

  “This – the whole guy-girl thing. Or girl-girl thing. Any of it. I’m done with romance or whatever it is you’re after.”

  “Who says I’m after anything?”

  “Come on,” she snorted. “You’ve been staring at me like I’m a prime cut of steak since I walked in the door. I’m starting to think maybe you _are_ a vampire.”

  “You interest me, that’s all.”

  “Oh yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “ _and_ the rest. Guys are dicks.”

  He shrugged, draining the last dregs of his scotch from his glass and tapping the counter for a top-up, which came immediately. “Can’t argue with that logic, I guess.”

  “You’re just the same.” The tips of her ears were starting to glow raspberry pink – sparks of fury spiking through her aura like shrapnel. “You’re all so condescending. You think you’re God’s gift to women and any girl who turns you down is just frigid, right? What’s so funny?”

  The words “God’s gift” had made him choke a little on his scotch, the irony was too perfect.

  “Trust me,” he said, “I’ll admit I’m not exactly Prince Charming – forget _God’s gift_ – but I like to think I’m a few evolutionary steps higher than others.”

  “Why, because you’ve got an expensive suit and a few dollars to throw around? Very progressive, I’m sure.”

  He couldn’t help but notice that, for all her heated words and angry glares, she still hadn’t left. The power of his command could only hold a mortal for so many minutes before it needed to be reissued, and he felt more inclined to see how long he could make her stay without one.

  “Does having money automatically make me a bad person?”

  “Don’t see many of your type using it to help those who actually _need_ it.”

  Kylo lifted his head and called to the crowded room, “Another round for everyone, on my tab!” to delighted drunken cheers from the other patrons. He raised his eyebrows at the girl in a ‘you were saying?’ expression.

  “Very funny,” she said. “Nice to know you take me so seriously.”

  “I do, actually,” he said. “Which is why I’d like to offer you a place to stay for tonight.”

  “Let me guess – your place?”

  “More or less,” he shrugged. “I happen to be the proprietor of a few establishments in the city. You’d be more than welcome to stay in one.”

  This wasn’t a lie. He’d started investing in properties all over the country at the turn of the nineteenth century. It was good to have somewhere private to go if he decided to walk among the mortals, or else to have somewhere he could return to with his _inamorata_ of the evening.

  “Put me up in an apartment with one exit where you have the key? Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

  “Or,” he said, trying to retain his patience. “I could give you a hotel room. You would have the key – I wouldn’t even step into the lobby, if you wanted. All I have to do is make a call.”

  She paused, as though seriously considering his offer. He took this chance to send out the thinnest tendril of enticement he could muster – no thicker than a strand of spider-silk. She seemed overly sensitive to his powers of charm and persuasion – he wondered if perhaps he’d been going about it the wrong way. The invisible thread softly caressed her hand, creeping up the sleeve of her sweater until it reached the nape of her shoulder. He urged it onward, curling like a minuscule snake round the smooth skin of her neck. It encircled her once, then twice, its seeking tip rising to whisper at the flesh of her sensual lower lip, which parted instantly under its touch. He watched it disappear inside, sweeping the flat of her tongue, allowing the lure to enter her body, her bloodstream; make her want him, make her legs tremble with desire for the pleasure he could give her.

  Then she shook her head. The thread withdrew faster than a frightened animal, and Kylo resisted the urge to curse aloud. _So fucking close_. It was that damned light, shining from deep inside her soul, defending her like a damned chaperone, making it impossible to keep a hold on her. It shouldn’t be possible. No mortal should have that power – it was almost . . . there was no other word for it: _angelic._

  “No,” she said. “Thank you, honestly – but I can’t.”

  “Why not?” he said, a touch of desperation leaking through the cracks in his voice. This was bad – the Devil didn’t _beg_. There was nothing he couldn’t have, nothing that was ever denied him; whatever he wanted was _his_ by right.

  She frowned. “Because I don’t know you.”

  “A detail easily rectified if you’d allow me,” he said.

  She dropped down from the stool and shouldered her duffel bag, draining the last of her water and pulling up the hood of her sweater. “I think it’s best if I leave,” she said, turning towards the door. “Bye.”

  “ ** _Stop_** ,” he said, before he could curb his tongue. The command hit her like a cold wave and she froze in place, a look of anxious confusion on her pretty face. He was not about to let her walk away from him, even if this was the only way to do it. So maybe he wasn’t better than the mortals. He had a right to be wicked if he damn well chose – he was the Devil, after all.

  He needed to know what she was. Even if he didn’t manage to get his fingers, tongue or cock inside her, it would drive him crazier if he never found out just how she was able to fight his charm so easily.

  “ ** _Come here_** ,” he said, beckoning one long finger for added emphasis.

  She moved closer, but jerkily, like a marionette fighting its strings. He could feel her resistance, his hold on her like a bird buffeted in a strong headwind. She was puzzled, frightened – he could taste it – not one bit the compliant slave he’d anticipated. First his charm was useless, now she was battling his command? This was ridiculous, yet almost everything about her still suggested she was mortal. It had to be that glimmer of light. Mortals used the phrase “touched by an angel”, but that notion was nonsense – angels could certainly suggest inspiration or courage or hope in a mortal’s mind, but it was brief, fleeting, and certainly nothing with such brilliance as this. He locked gazes with her, trying to focus past the flecks of green in her russet brown eyes.

  “ ** _Tell me your name_**.”

  “R-Rey,” she said haltingly, still fighting against him.

  “Rey,” he murmured.

  Hearing her name from his lips seemed to be the last push she needed. She staggered backwards, her bag knocking a stool almost to the floor, and she blinked in stunned disbelief up at him.

  “Who _are_ you?” she whispered.

  “I could ask the same of you,” he said. “Tell me, whose command do you follow?”

  “I don’t—”

  “ ** _Tell me_**.”

  “Nobody!” she insisted, and he couldn’t tell if she was being honest or simply resisting his will for her to be so. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We’ll see.” He waved his middle and forefingers sharply in front of her face and her eyelids instantly drooped, her slender body collapsing against him. Nobody gave them a second look as Kylo swept her into his arms, but he sent out a pulse of disinterest across the room, just as a precaution. The nearest door was a closet of cleaning supplies, but at his touch it transformed into a gateway to the void, allowing him to traverse wherever he wished on Earth or Hell. He stepped through into the inky blackness, the girl still limp in his grasp, leaving no trace or memory behind.                  

  

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all comments will be met with love and gratitude!  
> Follow me on Twitter at @KatieBelsey  
> Follow me on Tumblr at august-burns-red


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